


On Ice

by TheGreatCatsby



Category: All New X-Factor, Marvel (Comics), X-Men (Comicverse)
Genre: M/M, figure skating AU, quickbit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-12
Updated: 2014-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-01 05:22:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,895
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2761190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreatCatsby/pseuds/TheGreatCatsby
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first rule of going to a competition was not to talk to your competitors.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On Ice

**Author's Note:**

> I really like figure skating and it's that time of year! Figured I'd do a figure skating au for my current favorite pairing. Enjoy!

The first rule of going to a competition was not to talk to your competitors. The second was not to say anything bad about your competitors to the media, no matter how badly you wanted. 

At least, that's what Remy's coach Logan told him. But Logan was a short Canadian who was more angry at life than any figure skater, or person, Remy had ever met. And also, Logan insulted everyone all the time, so Remy never really put much effort into following his rules. 

It got him publicity. He flirted shamelessly with some of the other competitors, male or female. He earned himself the nickname Ragin' Cajun from the press, both on and off the rink. He was good at figure skating, but also, he was good at charming the pants off people. 

Mostly. Some people found him insufferable. 

The beginning of this new season started with a competition in Russia and Logan seemed more cross than usual as he paced back-and-forth in their small hotel room. Remy watched him with interest, sitting on the edge of his bed.

“What's got your panties in a twist?” Remy asked. “Training's been going well. Y'know I'm the favorite ta win.” 

“The judges hate you,” Logan said. “Everyone else in the figure skating community wants you to lose.” 

“Fan favorite,” Remy amended. “But everyone's always hated you and it never bothered you, so what's wrong?” 

“New blood,” Logan growled. 

Remy leaned forward. “Who's that?” 

“Talented,” Logan said. “Pietro Maximoff. Used to do pairs skating with his twin sister, Wanda. They decided to take a season off, and then decided to get into singles. Wanda's already made a name for herself last year, and Pietro's looking to match her.” 

Remy frowned. “Well, he older or younger?” 

“Younger than you,” Logan said, “which means he's probably got more energy, more flexibility, and the novelty factor of being a new competitor. But not by much. ” 

“How come he didn't stick with pairs?” Remy asked. “Find another partner?” 

“It takes years to develop the sort of trust you need,” Logan said. “And besides, he's not exactly a team player. I've heard that his sister's the only one who'd deal with him. The only one he thought was good enough to skate with him.” 

“Tsk.” Remy tangled his fingers in his hair and gave Logan a crooked smile. “I guess I'll have ta work extra hard ta keep the crowd on my side.” 

“Maximoff can do quads,” Logan said. A quad—a jump with four rotations—was the hardest type of jump in men's figure skating. And Remy could barely land one. 

“Merde.” 

*

He hadn't meant to look. 

Logan's third rule was to never see what your opponents were planning. It could mess with your head, destroy your confidence. But Remy got to the rink for practice early. Ordinarily, if someone else was still there, he'd leave and wait in the locker rooms. But this time he was curious. Because he didn't recognize the man on the ice. 

The man was tall and lithe, pale, his hair startlingly white. But despite his hair color, he wasn't old, possibly two years Remy's junior. He was talking to his coach, who Remy couldn't see. 

And then he started moving. 

Remy knew he should walk away. Logan would kill him. But the man moved across the ice with such grace. He took his jumps fast (landed that quad almost effortlessly), his footwork was intricate, his spins dizzying, and he never seemed to slow down. When he finished, Remy felt a bit breathless. 

“You might want to slow down during the footwork, Pietro” a female voice called out. 

It's Maximoff, Remy realized. 

On the ice, Maximoff nodded, drifting around in circles to dissipate the energy from his practice run. He made his way over to the exit and stepped off the ice. 

Like he was being pulled by a magnet, Remy made his way towards the other man, following him into the locker rooms. 

“Hey,” he said. Maximoff spared him a quick glance and then looked away. “I saw what you did out there. That was great.” 

“Thank you,” Maximoff said stiffly. His voice had a slight accent. 

“What country are you competing for?” Remy asked. 

“Transia,” Maximoff answered. 

“But you used ta do pairs for the states?” 

Maximoff spun around, glaring at him. “I know who you are, LeBeau. What do you want?” 

“So you've heard of me,” Remy said with a grin and a wink. 

Maximoff scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You'd sooner have an Olympic medal in bedding people than in figure skating.” 

“I take offense ta that,” Remy said, frowning. “I'll have you know that my skating is better than my sexual prow—wait...” 

“Mediocre at best,” Maximoff said, the corners of his lips twitching, “and often disappointing.” 

“That's not fair,” Remy said. 

“You try to charm your competitors,” Maximoff continued. “You're a distraction. One I can't afford.” And then he was gone. 

Remy made his way back to the ice, where Logan was waiting for him. 

“You talked to Maximoff, didn't you,” he said. 

The practice that followed was brutal. 

*

The first day of competition went well, and they had two days in between their short program and long program to rest. Or to “make things goddamned perfect” as Logan put it. He wanted Remy to land his quad in the long program. Without it, he would lose. 

It was difficult. 

What was even more difficult was thinking about Pietro Maximoff, who wouldn't leave his mind. Pietro looked like a person made of winter, made for living on the ice. He was almost the opposite of Remy, who came from warm, humid days full of sun and sweat and slowness. 

He found himself walking to the rink late at night, hoping to just sit and think. It helped, sometimes, to be near the ice but not skating on it. It gave him familiarity while not putting any pressure on him to perform. 

The rink wasn't empty. 

Pietro flew across the ice as Remy forced himself to move forward, and landed a jump. Then he spun, once, and went into another jump. This one he missed, and the momentum with which he'd launched himself caused him to skid across the ice and hit the wall after he'd hit the ground. 

Remy, in that moment, had a really stupid idea. 

He went back into the locker rooms, found the one that he and Logan had claimed, and started lacing up his skates. Five minutes later he was walking back towards the rink, reaching the edge just in time for Pietro to go too fast into a jump and go sliding across the ice again. 

“Patience, young Padawan,” Remy called out. 

Pietro scrambled to his feet, shock and anger on his face. “What?” 

“You ain't never seen Star Wars?” Remy asked, stepping onto the ice. 

“No, what are you doing here?” 

“I wanna skate with you,” Remy said. 

“Is that a line you use on all of your conquests?” Pietro asked, folding his arms in front of him. 

“Only a few,” Remy said, “and only the ones I find really impressive. But you're different, 'cause you actually know how ta skate with another person.” 

Pietro's expression darkened. “Right now I'm concentrating on how to skate by myself.” 

“It can't be that hard,” Remy said. “I heard that you're not a team player.” 

“I assume you know nothing of how difficult it is to find the right partner,” Pietro said. “It requires a physical and emotional compatibility. And it takes years to perfect.” 

“Which is why you went with your twin,” Remy said, skating towards him. Pietro remained still, eyes following Remy's movement. “Smart, easy. Why'd you stop?” 

“Wanda wanted a career for herself,” Pietro said. “She didn't like that we were always viewed as a unit. I can't blame her.” 

“But part of you does.” 

“No,” Pietro snapped. Remy started skating around him in lazy circles. 

“So you miss her?” 

Pietro's eyes flickered down, to the ice. “Yes.” 

Remy switched to skating backwards. “So why're you out here now? It's late. Your coach ain't here.” 

“I haven't perfected my routine,” Pietro said. “Unlike some people, I have high standards.” 

“Too high,” Remy said. “No routine is ever gonna be perfect.” Pietro opened his mouth as if to contradict, but Remy stopped in front of him and added, “You need a break.” He grabbed Pietro's hand. 

Pietro pulled it away. “What are you doing?” 

“You need a break,” Remy repeated. “I'm gonna bring you back ta familiar territory. Not that I wanna help you, mind, but because this is something I wanna do for fun.” He grabbed for Pietro's hand again and this time Pietro didn't stop him. So Remy pulled him around the ice. 

They picked up speed, still holding hands, and it became unclear who was leading who, exactly. “So in pairs,” Remy said, “surely you do more than this? Shouldn't you be lifting me?” 

“Shut up,” Pietro said. Then he glanced back and smirked, surprising Remy. “And catch up.” And he sped ahead. 

Remy hurried to catch up, and they raced around the rink. This was new to him; rarely in figure skating did he get to just skate around the rink without doing any jumps or spins or footwork. It felt a bit like skating did when he was a kid. Who could go faster? He and Pietro were both trying to go as fast as they could, and it was probably dangerous, but it was also liberating. The rink around them became a blur, as did the ice, and they were flying. 

Remy caught up to Pietro but didn't think about what he would do after that. They were going so fast. Remy grabbed Pietro's sweater, which startled Pietro enough that he spun, causing them both to trip and hit the nearest wall. 

“Ow,” Remy groaned. His head was ringing and he could feel Pietro's bony body struggling beneath him. He moved off to check himself. He didn't think anything was broken, but the wind had definitely been knocked out of him. 

Pietro shifted, pushing himself up so that his back was braced against the wall. Remy started laughing at Pietro's face, dazed, framed by his windswept snow-like hair. Not at all the sharp, up-tight man he was otherwise. 

Pietro opened his mouth, his brows furrowing in a way that made him look almost adorable, and Remy couldn't help it. He leaned forward and kissed him. 

Pietro's lips were cool, their touch light. Remy pulled away, grinning at Pietro's stunned face, at the way red had crept into his pale cheeks and how wide his eyes were. 

“That,” Remy said, “was probably a bad idea.” He pulled himself up and grinned. “See you tomorrow?” He didn't wait for a reply, just skated to the exit and walked swiftly out of the rink. 

*

The next day, Remy ended up in third place. Pietro got first, and after the interviews and talks from coaches (or berating from Logan in Remy's case) Pietro cornered Remy in the locker rooms and handed him a piece of paper. 

“If last night was your attempt to ensure my failure,” he told him, “it went quite poorly.” And then he darted away. 

Remy unfolded the paper and grinned. Written in a hasty scrawl was Pietro's mobile number.


End file.
